Читать книгу The Nanny And The Reluctant Rancher - Barbara McCauley - Страница 10

Three

Logan came in at five that afternoon. He was dirty, tired and more than a little tense. He and three of his men had moved half of the herd to another pasture, and one stubborn steer had broken away, leading Logan on a merry chase through a steep gully and heavy brush. He’d used every epithet in his rather extensive cow cutter’s vocabulary twice before he finally escorted the wayward animal back to its bellowing companions, but the fun and games had cost his gelding a shoe and forced Logan to ride back early.

Closing the stall door behind him, he tossed his horse a fleck of hay, then made his way to the house.

It was hard to admit, but Logan knew he was the only one to blame for his troubles. It had been his lack of focus on his work, not a runaway steer that had caused his problems. His mind had been on a curvy green-eyed gal from New York, a woman with long sleek legs that were made for a man to wrap around his waist. When he’d caught sight of those legs earlier as he’d helped her out of the truck, it had taken every ounce of willpower not to openly stare. He’d wanted to take her back to town right then and there. He’d wanted to take her to bed.

But he’d done neither, of course. And he wouldn’t. He would endure a little masculine torture if it made Anna happy. The smile on his daughter’s face this afternoon when she’d seen Kat had made every uncomfortable moment worthwhile. He was determined to make it through the summer, even if it cost him a few sleepless nights and several cold showers.

He still couldn’t believe she’d stayed in Harmony. Obviously Kat Delaney was a determined woman. While he didn’t understand it, he couldn’t help but admire her tenacity. He hadn’t taken her seriously, and his reputation with the town was smarting from his mistake. Mistakes, he corrected himself. His first one had been bringing her here in the first place.

He caught the delicious scent of roast beef and heard laughter when he came in the service entrance off the kitchen. Normally, after a day’s work, he would clean up and take off his boots before he went to his room to shower. Today, he stopped, listening to the cheerful sounds coming from the kitchen. Quietly he went to the door and opened it a crack.

He saw Anna first, her face and arms covered with flour, sitting at the kitchen table in a regular chair instead of her wheelchair. Bottom lip between her teeth, she methodically worked a large ball of dough. Bowls and measuring cups surrounded her, as did shortening, salt and an assortment of other baking supplies. It looked as if a bag of flour had exploded.

“Knead about ten times—” Logan heard Kat say “—biscuit dough should feel light and soft, but not sticky...”

Logan turned his attention to Kat and his stomach went into a skid. Dressed in snug-fitting jeans and a white T-shirt, she stood at the kitchen sink, reading from a cookbook while she peeled potatoes. The strings of an apron lay in a neat bow on her flour-dusted backside. His throat felt as dry as the flour as he stared at her well-rounded derriere and long legs encased in tight denim.

“Seven...eight...” he heard his daughter slowly counting as she kneaded the dough.

They were cooking together, he realized in amazement. To the best of his knowledge, Anna had never done anything more in the kitchen than help Sophia set the table. And here she was with Kat—making biscuits?

A feeling he couldn’t identify tightened Logan’s chest as he watched Anna and Kat. There was a brightness in Anna’s eyes, a pinkness in her cheeks that he hadn’t seen in a long time. It had never dawned on him that helping in the kitchen might be something she would enjoy. Obviously it had never dawned on anyone else, either. He made a mental note to discuss it with Mrs. Lacey when she came back.

“Is this good?” Anna asked.

Still unobserved, Logan watched Kat set down the potato she’d been peeling, wipe her hands on her apron, then pick up the cookbook and walk over to Anna.

Kat poked at the dough. “You tell me. You’re the expert biscuit maker.”

“But I’ve never cooked anything before,” Anna said, her brow furrowed.

“Me, either.” Kat blew a long strand of hair from her forehead, then reached for a rolling pin on the table and handed it to Anna. “That’s how we learn new things. We just do it. Now roll.”

Kat had never cooked before? Confused, Logan watched as she read to Anna and the two of them discussed the recipe instructions. She didn’t know how to cook, he realized. But then, why did she agree to cook for him? Of course, now that he thought about it, he’d never given her a chance to say no. He’d assumed she knew how. After all, even people in New York had to eat.

But then, hadn’t he learned by now that any assumption regarding a woman was bound to get a man into trouble?

So she didn’t know how to cook. She was here to teach Anna, that was most important. As long as the woman focused on educating his daughter, he’d put up with indigestion for a few weeks.

And cold showers, he thought when Kat set the cookbook down and rubbed her fists against the small of her back. He had to force back a groan as her full breasts pressed tightly against her T-shirt.

It was going to be a long, painful summer.

With a sigh, he quietly backed away before Anna or Kat spotted him. As he closed the door behind him, he heard them singing, “Roll, roll, roll your dough...”

Kat held her breath as Logan took a bite of the roast she’d cooked. She knew it was silly, that it should matter so much. She’d been to dinners with politicians and celebrities and even royalty, but no dinner had ever made her so nervous, or been so important, as this one. Her first roast, she thought with excitement, watching him chew. And chew.

And chew.

Disappointed, she sank back in her chair. She’d been praying he liked his meat well-done, as in very well-done. Rather than torture the man, she should have just told him the truth about her culinary skills. She could see the headlines now: Katrina Delaney, World-Famous Violinist, Poisons Texas Rancher.

“Logan—” she sat straight and stared at her own plate “—I should have—”

“How ’bout another slice of meat?” He popped a bite of beef in his mouth, then scooped up some mashed potatoes and gravy that Kat knew had more lumps than a sugar bowl.

She waited for him to choke, then watched as he simply scooped up another big bite.

Stunned, she handed him the meat platter. He speared a piece of meat, then waved his fork at the bread basket. “And a couple more biscuits, too, please. It’s odd, Grandma Betty used to make biscuits as flaky as these, but she said only the women in my family had the knack.”

Anna, who had been sitting on the edge of her seat also, looked at Kat and smiled.

“Anna made them,” Kat said, grinning back at Anna.

Kat could have sworn she saw the devil dance in Logan’s eyes as he raised his eyebrows with surprise.

“No.” He picked up a biscuit and looked at it. “My Anna made biscuits?”

Eyes wide, Anna nodded.

Kat watched Logan with his daughter and she wondered if the man sitting across from her had a brother, an evil identical twin who had fired her two days ago, then irritably rehired and brought her back here today.

He winked at Anna and Kat felt her own insides do a flip. Though she hardly knew him, Kat suspected that this side of Logan Kincaid—the teasing, smiling charmer—was a side that few saw, a side that emerged only for Anna. Kat knew that for Anna—only Anna—Logan had swallowed his pride and brought her back here. Anna wasn’t happy, Logan had told her. He’d made it plain that he didn’t feel she was right for the job and that he didn’t want her here.

And yet, sometimes, Kat thought there was something in Logan’s eyes, a look that she felt more than actually saw, a look that she understood more on an instinctual, rather than conscious level; a look of sheer masculine hunger that made every feminine receptor within her scream out a warning. She’d come to Texas for adventure and romance, but romance of a spiritual nature, not in a physical, sexual sense. And when it came to Logan, Kat had no doubt that’s all there would be, the physical. The man radiated sex, and while she couldn’t deny she was attracted, she also couldn’t deny he terrified her.

To Anna’s delight, Logan made a great show of eating three more biscuits, then after dinner insisted on clearing the table and doing the dishes while Kat helped Anna into the bathtub. After she’d bathed and dried off, Kat dusted Anna with scented powder she’d brought from New York. Anna was still smiling when Kat helped her into bed.

“Do you really know how to play the violin?” Anna asked when Kat tucked the pink comforter around her.

Kat smiled. “Yes.”

“Miss Carver, my nanny when I was six, before Mrs. Lacey came, she played the violin, too, but she was so bad that Daddy wouldn’t let her play when he was home. The screeching gave him a headache.”

One more reason for Logan to resent her being here, Kat thought with a silent sigh. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be very careful not to screech when your daddy’s around.”

“Miss Carver taught me to play a little, too,” Anna said shyly. “And Miss Goodhouse, the music teacher at Harmony Elementary said I was very good.”

Harmony Elementary? Kat had assumed that Anna had always had home tutoring. “When did you go to school in Harmony?” Kat asked.

“She went for one semester in the third grade.”

Kat turned at the sound of Logan’s voice. He stood in the doorway, his shoulders stiff, the smile he’d had earlier gone. So the evil twin was back, she thought with a quiet sigh.

“We’ll go over Anna’s lessons and schedule in a few minutes,” he said, moving into the room. “I made some coffee, help yourself.”

Kat was bright enough to know when she was being dismissed. She said good-night to Anna, then went to search for a mug in the kitchen. She never drank coffee, but she needed something to hold onto when she and Logan went over Anna’s lessons. She dumped in milk and sugar, hoping to hide the taste, but when she sipped the hot liquid she wrinkled her nose at the still-bitter flavor.

She was sitting at the kitchen table when he came in a few minutes later. He poured himself a cup of coffee, then turned and leaned back against the counter.

“We haven’t had a chance to talk about Anna yet,” he said, holding her gaze. “About her disability.”

Kat had the distinct feeling he’d expected her to look away when he’d used the word “disability.” She knew there were people, a lot of people, uncomfortable being around, or even discussing the disabled. Based on his blank expression and flat voice, Kat had the feeling Logan himself wasn’t comfortable.

“She was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen,” he said quietly. “A little button nose, big blue eyes, pink cheeks. Everything about her was perfect. She said her first word when she was ten months, took her first step when she was a year.” He stared at his coffee cup for a moment, then finally continued. “JoAnn—Anna’s mother—and I didn’t really notice any problems until Anna was almost four. She just seemed lazier than normal, sometimes even refusing to walk, or crying if we made her. She couldn’t seem to keep her balance and oftentimes she’d stumble or fall. When we took her into a specialist in Houston, he found a tumor in her spine. He operated, but there was nerve damage to the spinal cord that affected her lower body movement. She has partial feeling in her legs, but no motor control.”

Kat tried to picture Anna at four, all the doctors and the hospital, the surgery. How scared she must have been. “And she’s been in a wheelchair since then?”